


No survivors, huh?

by beenomorph



Category: Battleborn (Video Game)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-19
Updated: 2017-01-19
Packaged: 2018-09-18 13:44:33
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,538
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9387761
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/beenomorph/pseuds/beenomorph
Summary: I don't care what "canon" says, those cats are real





	

**Author's Note:**

> its 3:30 am and im really emotional,

It was always real nasty when battles spilled into living areas. Military bases, those were the places that, tactically, made the most sense to hit-- and, more often than not, were the places that  _ were  _ hit.

It was with increasing commonality, however, that refugee camps or struggling cities wound up being the backdrop for a skirmish with the Varelsi or with Jennerit forces. With good intel, they could get most civilians evacuated with ample time to grab their essentials, but not all intel was good intel, and not every attack was purposeful. 

Sometimes, people got left behind. Innocent civilians, caught in the crossfire. Usually after the worst of the fighting was over, they did a sweep of all civilian areas for survivors.

Oscar Mike always hated that part. Always found a lot more bodies than he ever did survivors.

Broken glass crunched underfoot as he passed by the window of what had once been some kind of store, he assumed, the bullet holes warping his reflection in the glass. He wondered if the bullets had come from his gun.

Shooting dudes was always fun- he was made for it, after all- the rush of adrenaline and thrill from the battlefield treated him well. But, damn if he didn’t hate dealing with the fallout of all this war crap.

Oscar Mike jiggled the door handle. It was locked, which probably meant that someone had locked themselves inside. He supposed he could have just broken the glass and unlocked it, but kicking the door open was easy and made him feel undoubtedly more badass, so that’s what he did.

The sound of the splintering wood was accompanied by the friendly chime of the bell above the door, and the quiet sound of Oscar Mike clearing his throat.

“Hello?” he tested, entering with caution. It was definitely some kind of store-- maybe a bookstore? “Anyone still kicking in here? Fighting’s over,” he said to nobody in particular, “It’s safe to--”

His eyes trailed down, the light from his flashlight glinting off of the puddle on the ground. 

“Ah, shit.” he groaned. Blood was almost never a good sign. There was a trail, which was ominous as hell, leading through the disheveled aisles and behind the front counter, up a flight of stairs and to a scene Oscar Mike had already prepared himself to see the second he saw the blood puddle.

Didn’t make it suck any less though. He was an old dude, curled up alone in his bedroom, clutching at a wound in his stomach that was most likely from thrall claws. 

“Damn,” Oscar Mike said, quietly, “I’m sorry, man.”

He stood there for a moment, feeling like there was something more he should say before crouching by the body. Maybe the guy had some kind of ID on him, some kinda way to let anyone looking out for him--

A sound cut through the silence of the house like a knife through butter, slow and distant in a way that Oscar Mike didn’t even notice at first until it became incessant, demanding. ID in hand, he rose, leaning against the bedroom’s door frame as he scanned for the source of the sound, expecting maybe to see a hurt kid or something.

What he didn’t expect was a fat, grey cat sitting in the hallway. It looked at him cautiously with yellow eyes, and they seemed frozen there for an eternity.

“Uh, hi there,” Oscar Mike said, because he couldn’t think of anything else to do. The cat responded instantly, padding over with a little limp, bell on its collar giving a weak series of jingles before it flopped against the clone’s foot.

It was hurt, a gash in its leg surrounded by the Varelsi’s unidentifiable space gunk matted into its long fur, but it smashed its head against Oscar Mike’s leg anyways, letting out the tiniest of meows.

In that second, Oscar Mike’s stomach turned and his heart melted and he absolutely fell in love with this little creature. The thing was just tired, he thought, must have gone through hell and still just wanted a bro.

He crouched down, scratching cautiously behind its ear, wide smile splitting his face beneath his mask when the cat responded with another gentle meow.

“You got in a fight with some Varelsi, little guy?” he cooed, “That’s gotta make you the tiniest badass I know.” 

When Ghalt’s voice crackled through his headset, he started- it was time to go, they’d found no survivors, and they needed to recap back on Nova. 

“No survivors, huh?” Oscar Mike hummed. He stood back up, going back to the owner’s bedroom once more and grabbing a t-shirt that sat, discarded, on the floor. “Hope you don’t mind if I borrow this,” he muttered. 

The cat didn’t protest to being picked up and swaddled- it was really tired, after all, and had probably lost a lot of blood, which made Oscar Mike worry and really pick up the pace getting back to the ship. 

“Mikey!” Montana’s familiar voice boomed as he approached the transport, “What d’you got there?” 

“Oh my God,” Ghalt’s voice interrupted after a double take at Oscar’s approaching form, “Oscar, did you- you didn’t find a  _ baby,  _ did you?” There was an undercurrent of worry, there- they didn’t have the facilities to take care of a  _ baby,  _ what were they gonna  _ do _ -

“What? No! I mean, I guess she does kinda look like a baby, all swaddled up like this-”

“ _ She?”  _ Montana interrupted, skepticism evident in his voice. 

“Yeah! She! At least, I think? It’s kinda hard to tell. Anyways, she totally fought off like, a hundred Varelsi, so I think-”

“Oscar,” Ghalt’s voice cut in, “What exactly  _ is  _ she?”

Oscar’s body language shifted-- Ghalt knew that look, somehow, even though the guy always had his mask on- knew that was the way Oscar looked right before he asked for something the Captain always had to say no to.

“Well,” he said, “She’s a cat.”

A pause.

“She’s a cat?” Ghalt asked, and Oscar Mike nodded.

“Affirmative.” Another pause. “But- I- We don’t have to keep her or anything!” Oscar Mike said, and Ghalt could tell it pained him to put that offer on the table. Knowing the clone, he had probably already gotten overly attached to the thing, and leaving her behind would just break his heart... “Just-- she’s hurt, her owner died, y’know? That’s just, so messed up, and she’s still so sweet and everything…”

“Aw, come on, Captain!” Montana chimed in, as always, throwing a giant arm around his small friend, “We can give her a bath, give her some food--”

“Yeah! She can, like, totally have some of my rations!” Oscar Mike offered-- it wouldn’t be a problem, really, the clone barely ate as it is, and half of the stuff he  _ did  _ eat was whatever stuff happened to be nearest when he got hungry, which didn’t always include their standard rations.

“And I’ll keep her out of everything, and she’ll be real quiet, probably, and, well, we’ll have to get a box for her, but I’ll clean that, too, and--”

“Fine,” Ghalt sighed, gesturing the two inside of the ship, “We decide what happens to her later. For now, let’s get out of here.” 

Onboard Nova, the first thing Oscar Mike learned about the cat was that she absolutely hated baths. He ended up with a few new scratches in his armor afterwards, but he didn’t really mind, because the second thing he learned was that the cat wasn’t grey like he thought it was, it was white, and very  _ very  _ dirty. Within the next few hours, the gash on her leg is cleaned up, the black fabric beneath Oscar Mike’s green armor is coated with a fine layer of white fur, and everyone on the ship is intrigued by the novelty of the situation. A few people come down to see her themselves, give her a pet, ask if Oscar had thought about names yet, warn her to keep him away from ISIC or Orendi. 

Oscar, of course, loved the cat to pieces. Every stop they made brought more cat toys and treats from wherever he could find them. She’d taken to sitting on the clone’s shoulders, or sitting in his lap during mealtimes in an attempt to swipe at some of his food, following him around like how a duckling follows its mom, the little bell on her collar jingling in step.

Ghalt, meanwhile, supposes it’s a blessing in disguise. Having the little thing around helped morale, definitely- Oscar had promised to keep her out of things, but cats would be cats, and it wasn’t long before odd feline encounters became the talk of the ship. He decided he didn’t much mind the old girl when he woke late in the night, kept up by an unfortunate cocktail of chronic pain and too much stress, to her climbing onto his chest like she belonged there and purring up a storm. He guessed they didn’t have to get rid of her, after all.

That’s what made it so hard to say no when, a month later, Oscar returns after a mission with a pair of stumpy brown kittens.


End file.
